


Ficlets

by yoohoopuddin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Children, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Bloodplay, Crossdressing, Femlock, Genderswap, Lingerie, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-12
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 22:23:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 9,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/590294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoohoopuddin/pseuds/yoohoopuddin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles which explore the whirlwind of partners, pain and pleasure amidst the Moran and Moriarty twins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Addiction

Sebastian and Jim both had an addiction.

For Sebastian it was the expression of innocence that widened those dark, dark eyes - the lips that trembled as they tried to stifle back the loud, uncontrollable moans that begged to be heard. 

For Jim, it was crumbling the innocent features into something twisted, to coax out the groans and the cries. To tear away at every shred of chastity, to watch the slim body writhe underneath him.

So, as Sebastian trailed his tongue along the pale skin laid out before him, pink flesh swirling around the sensitive bud of a nipple - Jim would watch, eyes wide. He’d perch himself on the edge of the mattress, fingers curled around the sheets and knuckles white.

And Richard, Richard would let them. He’d sprawl out across the bed, the couch, the floor, the wall - wherever they wanted him and let them have their fix. 

He’d give the addicts what they craved; a cocktail of fear and awe sparkling in his gaze would find Sebastian, teeth raking across the delicate flesh of his lips before clamping down hard, piercing the skin and drawing a crimson trickle of blood that would cause his brother to shudder. 

He was an actor; adaptable, disguised - give the crowd what they want to see and they’ll be putty in your hands. And they would line up for their next injection, bare their skin for the next rush.


	2. Breakfast in Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim wakes Richard up for some breakfast in bed. Or rather, syrup poured all over a particularly delicious sniper.

Richard had been quite peacefully curled up on the couch when his brother had whacked him over the head with the end of a bottle of syrup and forced him to snap awake with a start.

“Come on, Richie, breakfast in bed,” he had whispered, a smile curling at the corners of his lips as he reached out to wrap his fingers around the other man’s scrawny wrist. 

Richard, still dazed from being so abruptly pulled from his slumber, allowed himself to be yanked along the hallway. His eyes flickered to Jim’s free hand, where the man held the offending bottle of syrup. Breakfast in bed?

Jim led them both, with an eager bounce, into the bedroom where Sebastian was currently sprawled out across a king-sized bed. The criminal placed his finger against his brother’s lips, warning him to keep hushed and not wake up Sebastian draped in the heap of linen. They, in a slight crouch, stepped over as quietly as possible to the edge of the mattress. 

Jim was the first to hop up, throwing a smirk over in his brother’s direction before crawling over Sebastian’s sleeping form with a skilled sense of ease. He raised the bottle high and popped open the cap, eyes wide and sparkling with amusement as the first droplets of syrup started to ooze from the plastic’s neck and trickle over his sniper’s chest.

Sebastian stirred as the sweetness began to coat his exposed torso, his head tilting back and forth against rumpled pillows and his eyelids fluttering open. When he caught sight of the figure looming over him, Jim was too busy to notice - ushering over Richard with light waves of his hand.

The twin climbed up onto the mass of disheveled bed sheets, steadying himself on his hands and knees as he moved over to join the other two men already there.

Jim reached out to card a hand through his brother’s dark hair, ruffling it even more as he encouraged him to dip down. Richard obliged, ducking and still in a drowsy haze, his tongue poking out from between his lips and licking a thick stripe across Sebastian’s tan skin, slurping up the sickening taste of the candied sauce.

A low groan rumbled from Sebastian’s throat as the pink flesh swept across. Jim remained straddled over the blond man’s hips, knees digging into the blankets as he swayed the bottle back and forth, trailing a sticky path for Richard to follow.

Sebastian gasped as the tip of Richard’s tongue swirled over a nipple, circling the rosy bud before mouthing his way over to the scars slicing across the opposite side of his chest. Richard murmured hums of contentment as he lapped up the syrup, mewing like a kitten gifted with a very delicious treat indeed.

Jim’s hand entangled itself in Richard’s hair once more, gripping tight at the messy threads. 

Jim squirted the sweet below Sebastian’s navel, continuing to steer his brother. Richard’s eyelids drooped over as he moved south, lips parted and glossy.

Sebastian’s hips tilted up, thrusting into Richard’s touch. It was at that move, that Jim yanked the bottle away and flipped the cap back to a close. Richard continued to catch every drip that had tinged Sebastian’s skin until Jim’s fingers twisted in Richard’s hair and jerked his head back.

“Only breakfast, dear.”


	3. Fuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as the prompt said; after they fuck, Sebastian realises he's in way over his head.

Sebastian’s head thumped back against the rumpled sheets with a dull thud, his mouth falling agape and one last low moan tumbling past red lips, swollen with bitter kisses. Jim crumbled down on top of him, dark hair soaked with sweat sweeping across his bare chest.

They’d finally fucked. They’d finally crashed past those ridiculous barriers they’d set up. The tension finally relieved as they pressed flush against each other - tongues tangling, hips rocking back and forth as their bodies ached for the glorious friction they had been craving for so long. Jim had been in awe of Sebastian’s chest, his mouth caressing every crimson scar slicing across the tanned skin.

Fingernails had clawed, teeth had clamped down on sensitive flesh, heads thrust back in obscene cries.

And now that it was all over, Sebastian’s head was pounding - his mind reeling with the race of thoughts pulsating against his skull. And he really wanted to just lie there in a pure post-orgasmic bliss, to sprawl out across the sheets and regain his steadied breaths.

But Jim wasn’t like that at all, he slid off of his sniper and with a stumble he in his all his best tried to disguise, he scooped up a fresh new suit and dived into a shower. When he’d returned only to grace the sight of the other man still draped over the heap of messy sheets, well.

“Get your arse out of bed. We have work to do, moron.”

Sebastian craned his neck, peering over at his boss through thick, blond lashes. A smirk tugged at his lips. How bloody romantic. Charming.

When Sebastian made no sign of moving, Jim slunk out of the room. Sebastian thought for a fleeting moment, in what must have been sheer stupidity, that maybe Jim was leaving it at that. He’d gotten the day off. What a moron indeed.

The flickering of the flames, licking up the corner of the mattress with a sure appetite, illuminated the wicked grin etched across Jim’s features as he experimented with a new, incredibly effective, form of wake-up call.

Sebastian flipped out of the bed, rambling out obscenities directed towards just how ‘fucked up’ his boss was. Yet amongst them all, a smile curved over his lips. He’d go right back to that burning bed, he’d beg for Jim to renew the bruises he’d littered over his skin.

Oh, he thought, as the bed finally turned a char black - he was in so much trouble.


	4. Panties and Stockings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian admires Jim's taste in clothes.

Sebastian was draped over the couch when Jim emerged from the bedroom. He heard the muffled patter of footsteps approaching him and he glanced up to catch a glimpse of the other man, in no way expecting anything out of the ordinary. Oh.

Jim smirked over at him with one perfectly groomed brow quirked. His legs were laced in the fabric of tan stockings, a material which only emphasized the slim outline of his calves. His fingers toyed with the clips of suspenders, the slight trills of a click or a snap piercing Sebastian’s ears as he stared.

“Cat caught your tongue, tiger?” Jim purred, the pads of his digits drifting to rim over the suspender belt partly hidden by the crisp fabric of his shirt. He started to move, to slink over to his lover with a seductive sway of his hips. 

He perched on Sebastian’s lap, legs draping over the free length of the couch as he peered up at the other man through dark, thick lashes that fluttered in a ridiculous flirt.

Sebastian swallowed back the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat, his hands instinctively gripping at the other man’s thighs. He stifled back a groan as his palm brushed over the straps. 

“You like them, then?”

Sebastian nodded slowly in reply, fingers tracing the harsh edge of the pegs nipping onto the thick bands encircling the other man’s flesh. Jim mewed in content at the soft sweeps.

Sebastian’s hand trailed higher, hovering over the frilly lace of the panties Jim had hitched below the jutting curve of his hipbones.

Jim’s mews turned to a moan and he craned his neck, encouraging Sebastian to press their lips together.

Sebastian obliged, closing the gap between them and crushing their mouths together in a covetous kiss. 

When they broke away, Jim breathed out, through swollen, curled lips;

“I’m glad you like them so much. I got a set for you too.”


	5. Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blood!kink for a wonderful tumblr user.

Jim was hunched over his desk, forearms digging into the calloused wood and fingers rattling over a flutter of documents. He was waiting on his sniper to barge through the office door before he ripped him to pieces. A job had gone wrong and though the blame really had only splashed Sebastian, he was a convenient source of relief. The other men had all been promptly dealt with. A knife in the gut, a bullet through the skull.

Sebastian stumbled past the door of the office a few moments later, hands gripping on painfully tight to the door frame as soon as he swung inside. Knuckles white, Sebastian murmured over a greeting.

But all Jim could focus on was the crimson soaking the sliced fabric of Sebastian’s shirt. The rusted reds entangling in the once crisp material. His gaze couldn’t tear away from how the blood beaded over the other man’s skin, how it coated the tan flesh in an array of glossy, sanguine pellets. He cleared his throat, swallowing back a thick lump that had formed while he hadn’t been paying attention.

“Moran,” the name was almost gasped out in the hitch of a breath.

Sebastian narrowed his gaze, his brows bumping together as he noticed the - anxious? - bounce of his boss’ voice.

“‘s sorry,” he slurred over to him eventually. “‘s not my fault - and the blood, it ain’t all mine.”

Jim managed a curt nod, pupils blown impossibly wide as his analytic stare continued to glide over Sebastian’s garnet drenched form.

“Good,” he croaked, slipping out of his seat with an unsteadiness that caused him to hiss out a curse.

Sebastian fumbled forward into the room, his hands dropping to his sides like dead weights. He braced himself on the desk when he had reached it, knees bending into the harsh grain.

Jim’s tongue poked out from between his lips, licking over the plush skin as he watched Sebastian’s every sway. He traveled around the edge of the desk and reached out a hand to ghost over the other man, fingertips laced in the droplets of vermilion.

Sebastian craned his neck, tilting his head to the side as he watched Jim raise his fingers to his mouth and suck the driblets of blood.

“‘at you doin’?” He groaned, bewildered as to why Jim hadn’t lashed out at him yet. Jim ignored his question, shuddering as the copper sensation filled his mouth, lingered over his taste buds with a bitter nip. He almost moaned as his finger plopped from parted lips with an obscene pop.

“On the desk.”


	6. Wakey Wakey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Jim comes to visit Richard while he's backstage just minutes before he needs to get on stage/set

There was all of about ten minutes before Richard had to be on set and slump before the camera.

He was settled in his chair, flicking idly though pages of the book he would be reading. He barely registered the coloured blobs of text splattered across each dainty, little illustration. He was exhausted. They’d kept him up all night.

Eventually, exhaling a long, airy sigh, he closed the children’s book over with a dull thud and allowed his head to lull forward with a tired sway. His hands carded through his already ruffled hair, tugging a bit too harshly on the dark threads as he tried to wake himself up at least a little.

“Oh, dear. You look so tired! We were hard on you last night, weren’t we?” The slight click of shoes scraping against the calloused grains of the floor carried off each word with a bounce, “Well, aren’t you lucky? I’m here to make up for it - wake you up.”

Richard had scrambled off his chair at the first rattle of his brother’s voice, wide eyes darting around the room as he searched for its source. His gaze nestled over his twin’s figure, illuminated by the pale lighting of the dressing room.

“Oh,” he breathed, standing awkwardly before his chair.

Jim strolled over to him in sweeping steps, brushing a hand over Richard’s chest, beckoning him to plant himself back down on his seat. Richard obliged, his doe-like stare locking onto his brother’s identical features - pulled into a devious smirk.

Only but a mere minute had passed before Jim was lowering himself down onto Richard, the fine curve of his smile still in place as he straddled him.

“Now, I didn’t really bring you any coffee,” Jim purred, each syllable rolling off his tongue in his velvet lilt. Richard swallowed, his head bobbing up and down in a nod as he tried his very best not to shift under his brother’s weight.

Jim peered down at his twin for no more than a few seconds longer, eager to crush his mouth against Richard’s in a hungry kiss.

Richard’s breath hitched in his throat, a gasp parting his lips against his brother’s. The corners of Jim’s lips curled as his tongue glided over the plush flesh of the actor’s lower lip, teeth raking over the delicate, pink skin - hoping to coax those oh-so-delicious moans his brother was all too well known for.

The criminal reigned triumphant, a groan rumbling from the depths of Richard’s throat, heavy eyelids fluttering. They drooped over completely when their tongues slid against each other in a teasing graze.

Richard, jolted awake by his brother’s arrival, pleaded for more, arms looping around the other’s pale neck and forcing him to dip down closer.

At that, Jim drew back with the wisp of a chuckle, his fingertips tracing over Richard’s lips to swipe away the trickles of saliva ghosting over the swollen crimson.

“Richie! Think of the children - they need their bedtime story,” he taunted, slipping away from his brother’s lap and straightening his suit with a swat of his hands.

Richard had to fight with every fibre of his being not to break out a pout.

“Maybe if you’re lucky you’ll get one of your own,” Jim called back as he disappeared through the crack of a door frame.


	7. Amnesia

The job hadn’t gone well. Richard had felt uneasy all along, like something bad was bound to happen no matter how well Sebastian insisted he was prepared. But then he had to remind himself that he wasn’t his brother, that he shouldn’t be commenting. Jim had been gone for almost a year now and Sebastian had been doing just fine, hunching himself over desks as he plotted out mission plans, quirking a smile Richard’s way as he drawled over the phone to a potential client. The doubt itching away at him was disregarded as petty. Stupidly so, it proved, as now Richard sat slumped on an armchair lodged against a hospital bed.

Sebastian was splayed out across the sheets, bandages, soaked in a sheen of crimson, forced taught over his tan skin. His features were distorted in ugly shades of salmons and blues, the usual smirk he wore was but a ghost.

Richard cards his hands through his dark tangles of hair, fingers tugging at the errant curls as he tries to soothe himself, tries to install the belief that everything is going to be alright. His eyes flicker from the dingy hue of the tiled floor to meet with the other man who begins to stir.

Sebastian shifts all he can across the stiff mattress, restrained by a cast enveloping the length of one leg. He starts to bumble, words flowing from his trembling lips in careless snippets.

“J-Jim?” he stammers, the word stumbling with a bounce of hope. His eyes are scanning the depths of the pale room, white in a way that one could claim is designed to drive you insane. He is searching for his dead boss, the lover that shot a bullet through his head.

Richard reacts immediately, he reaches out to graze reassuring hands over Sebastian’s writhing form and is just about to correct him, remind him that Jim is no longer here, when he stops. The sharp gaze that finds his own haze of coppery gold halts him in his tracks. He realises that he doesn’t need to break him, not right now.

Sebastian furrows his eyebrows, voice weak as he pipes up again; ”J-Jim… is that you?”

“Yes,” Richard lies. He can deal with his later, if Sebastian can even recall anything after the drugs they’ve pumped into him crawl away from his veins.

“I… what the fuck am I doing in here?” Sebastian mutters, seemingly relaxing now that he’s assured.

Richard laughs, a soft chuckle, different from his usual childish giggle. He’s an actor. He can adapt. He’ll play the role of his brother. He shakes his head in a light, careful sway. “You fucked up. What a surprise.”

Sebastian scoffs in reply, “A’right.”

Richard is forcing himself to sit a little straighter, perch himself more properly upon the chair in imitation of his dead twin. “You still got them though. The targets. Shot ‘em all down.” He isn’t even sure if that was true.

Sebastian seems proud at the remark though, a sneer curving over his lips. “So you’re not too mad ‘en, magpie? Not gonna deny me of a get better kiss?”

Richard tenses. Of course he’s kissed Sebastian, he’s slept with the man for Christ’s sake. But… not like this. This is all lies. He’s deluded. But Richard leans forward all the same, props himself up on the rumpled blankets and presses his lips to the chapped skin of Sebastian’s.

It’s different. Sebastian kisses back in a completely foreign way. It’s not careful or gentle, it’s sloppy and smug. Richard tries his best to reflect it, losing himself in the sparks of passion that flared between his twin and the sniper.

When he breaks away, looming over the other man still and peering down at him, Sebastian speaks again; “At least I’m not dead, right? Wouldn’t want to have ye’ cleaning up that mess. I know I’d hate to be scrubbing up your blood. Not that you’d leave me, eh? You’d miss bossing me about too much.”

Richard swallows and then settles on replying with a half-hearted smile.


	8. Thongs

Jim’s eyes were wide, the darkest ink of his pupils splashed across the glimmering hazels of his irises, almost shielding the entangled shades of coppery cocoa and cinnamon completely. His fingers toyed impatiently with the hem of his shirt, flickering a view of the flushed skin hiding underneath.

Sebastian knew that every move was exaggerated, every twist and click of his hands as they fumbled with the shirt lazily draped over his body. He was acting, performing - and all for the pleasure of his tiger. Sebastian’s gaze didn’t linger too long on the scratching manicured nails, he was much more distracted by the lacy material splayed below.

Jim parted his lips, a soft moan flowing from between the pink flesh. It caused Sebastian to shudder, a prickling shiver climbing his spine. The dainty little thing really did not hide much, delicately slung across the consulting criminal’s crotch, tented with the sinfully delicious outline of his aching cock.

Sebastian wanted to tear the flimsy material right away, grasp the thong between his teeth and tug it away, glide his tongue over the swelling member he’d reveal. But not before he turned around; not before he caught a glimpse of the string perched between those perfect cheeks.

A whine left Jim’s lips as he danced, twirled himself around to present the jutting shoulder blades caressed by his shirt, the arch of his back as he craned his body in a cocktail of pain and pleasure and - oh, of course - the delectable curve of his arse.

Jim raised a hand, flexing a finger as to encourage Sebastian, his hips swaying back and forth in a painfully slow bounce of a rhythm.

A smirk dangled from Sebastian’s lips as he moved forward, collapsing to his knees almost immediately. He strained his neck, plucking the bitter taste of the thong between the clamps of his teeth.


	9. Euphonius

Jim is sprawled out across the bed, head lulled back against the plush cushions littering the mattress. His eyes are closed, heavy lids drooped over to shield a glazed stare. Manicured nails scratch at the linen of the sheets, a blanket lazily draped over his naked body, rumpled between his legs.

Sebastian isn’t touching him, he isn’t sweeping his fingertips across the panes of pale skin in his fleeting graze. He isn’t pressing moist lips to a jutting hipbone nor is he trailing the pink flesh of his tongue across the strained tendons of the other man’s neck. No. He’s simply talking.

Each word, laced in the threat it promises, lingers in the air, lapping over Jim in hazed waves, enveloping him. His mouth falls open, and he seems to be silenced, his own words not able to match such a battle. The only noise he emits is the wisp of a whimper.

Sebastian continues to talk, rattling off vivid descriptions, painting each brutal scene. He’s pacing back and forth, boots grinding against the sheen polish of the floors with each stride. The words continue to flow, a gruff bitter to a sickening sweet.

Jim carries himself off to the images that the other man paints, to the scenes of victory and defeat, to bathe in the deep crimsons of the blood shed. To hear the sharp click of a fist swinging against a jaw. Heels crushing against bone, knuckles stained with vermilion shades.

Sebastian doesn’t dare touch him, he just speaks - allows Jim to revel in grooves and curves of his voice, to disappear into the stories he tells.


	10. Richie and Jimmy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was Jim fucking Richard and being completely indifferent about it.

They were seventeen years old now, wading through the crowds of a bustling school and happily waving their farewells to each second that dragged on past.

They’d slump back in class, always side by side - Jim’s hand grazing over the fabric of his brother’s trousers, the rumpled shirts draped over their shoulders rustling against the other. The class was completely oblivious to the fleeting touches, the intertwined hands swaying amidst a cluster of desks.

When the bell cried out, blaring its obnoxious, clattering tone throughout the snaking corridors and classrooms, they’d race towards their very favourite spot. Jim would tug impatiently, Richard stumbling behind as they collapsed into the silence of the empty classroom, shattering the peace with their breathy giggles.

Jim would nudge the door to a close behind them, clasp the key in one hand with a triumphant grin that would only grow as a sharp click of the lock pierced their ears. Richard would already be leaning back against the gnawed wood of a table, sprawled out in the sweet buzz of anticipation as he awaited the first move.

Jim would toss the key aside and sweep across the floor, fingertips already tracing every exposed flicker of Richard’s pale skin.

Richard would sometimes falter, under the impression that he’d finally plucked up enough courage to splutter out the gasp of how he knew this wasn’t right, how maybe the should stop. But his swollen lips would tremble, stutter on the bitter confession of his love and before even a trickle of words could roll from between them, the hazed warmth of his brother’s mouth would envelope him. He’d melt right there, crumble into Jim’s grip and feel any hope of a plea float away, abandon him.

Jim would tear his mouth away, revel in the obscene noise of his brother’s moans, all the more glorious as he tried to muffle his cries with pained gasps of teeth digging into the delicate flesh of his lips. He’d flip Richard around, his own thoughts smothered with wantwantwant, mineminemine.

Richard would thrust his hips against the table, rocking back hard, desperate for friction. A groan would rumble from his throat as Jim’s hips swayed forward in reply, grinding against him with the outline of his perfectly hard cock, trapped in the confinements of his trousers. He’d hunch over the desk, forearms splayed out across the scratched planes, eyelids fluttering closed, shielding a glazed gaze.

Jim would fuck him there, nails clawing at the ashen shades of jutting hip bones, two pairs of uniformed trousers yanked down to the hobbles of knees.


	11. Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard finds a dead bird.

“I think it’s hurt, Jimmy.”

Richard’s quavering, little voice fluttered over towards his brother; the tremble in each lilting syllable reflected in the tiny boy’s shivering frame.

He was hunched over a bird, eyes wide with concern as they raked across the poor thing’s ruffled feathers; matted with the slight spatters of blood. Black and white and blue and red. Except the red couldn’t be described as just red, thought Richard - as he subconsciously lowered his gaze, brought himself closer to the innocent creature someone, something had broken. It was crimson, vermillion - deep, dark and whenever he caught a glimpse of the pooling liquid sparkling in the gloomy light of day; he felt sick to his stomach.

“What? You’re hurt?”

Jim’s voice came second; abrupt and clear - never faltering was this twin. Richard was jealous of him really, that he could be so spectacular with words.

“No, not me.”

At that, Jim scoffed. But he must have been intrigued all the same because his tittering was promptly followed by the patter of his shoes scuffling against the marshy ground, foot falls coming to a halt only when he had directed himself right beside his brother.

“Oh!”

Jim had yelped when he’d seen the bird; though it wasn’t a usual whimper of alarm nor fear - but a cry of excitement. Richard noticed that and honestly, he wasn’t sure how he felt about it so he tugged some more at the cardigan draped over his skinny shoulders to barricade the howls of the wind.

Jim crouched, not caring that his knees dived into the bubbles of mud, even though Richard knew very well that their Ma would. He stared in awe at the tangle of feather and bone; pale fingers hovering over the display. The grooves of the small boy’s bruises; violets and blues, harmonised with the curves and lumps of the lifeless bird. And tiny pinprick cuts only brought out the blood even more; causing Richard to almost gag.

“We should help.”

And Jim laughed at that, a bitter mocking laugh that his twin was not unfamiliar too. So innocent, was Richie. Jim yanked himself up and watched his twin; doe eyes locking on a similar pair that were so similar yet so different.

“It’s dead. Things die, Rich. That’s what they do.”

And Richard bobbed his head along in a nod, slipped his hand into his brother’s and they trotted back home. Dead. Birds die. Dogs die. Cats die. His Ma dies. And Richard would learn, in years to come that Jims die too.


	12. Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian and Severin slip away into a bathroom stall during a party.

For bigbootsmanofwar, who wanted the Moran Twins being generally filthy teenage boys with their filthy, horny teenage mentality.

-

The Moran twins hadn’t exactly been overjoyed at the prospect of attending one of their classmate’s parties but then they hadn’t particularly loathed the idea either. So they ended up at the sorry excuse for a party; nothing but a tangle of teenage limbs thrashing on a light-speckled dance floor and a barricade of booze littered aside. It wasn’t long before they got bored of simply just watching everyone else have their fun, idly sipping away at the last slithers of their drinks and wishing they could slip away for at least a fumbled kiss. Therefore, it wasn’t very much longer when they realised it didn’t have to be some distant wish. Nobody was even paying attention to them anymore - the girls who had been casting a glance or two their way the entire night had stormed out of the hall in an ugly stream of blubbering, howling out declarations of hate upon their path. Severin was the one to initiate things, whispering against the shell of Sebastian’s ear and curling one hand around his twin’s wrist as he yanked him backwards into the bathrooms. They were free except from one guy who had a little difficulty controlling the logistics of his zipper but as soon as he’d stumbled out, the brothers were thrust into a cubicle and latching onto each other’s mouths.

“Fuck, Sev,” Sebastian groaned, his voice a low grumble as his hands flickered over the other boy’s identical frame, seizing a hold of his belt and fiddling with the buckle desperately. “Fuck, I’ve been thinking about this all night. Just- just us two. Just, god…” He slipped the belt away after a moment of skittering, coiling the snake of material on the tiled floor without a care.

Severin moaned, his lips pressed flush over the curve of his brother’s neck; tongue swiping along the grooves of strained tendons. His own fingers toyed with the fabric of Sebastian’s underwear, tugging impatiently - no belt. He managed to slide his had underneath the flimsy fabric, skim his palm over the hair nestling above his twin’s cock, coaxing a beautiful wail from the depths of Sebastian’s throat.

“Yes, ye-yes,” Severin murmured into the planes of tan skin stretched across his brother’s muscles, tone quavering with each bump of breath. He was the one lodged against the wall, the cold panels sprawled out over the brick biting at his back, sending shivers climbing down his spine just as much as his twin did.

Sebastian nearly yelped as his brother wrapped a hand around his cock and barely a minute later his own set of digits were slicked around the length of Severin’s.

They set a pace, fists rowing back and fro, two pairs of identical hips crashing against each other in hungered cravings for more and more of the overwhelming touch; the tingle of their brother’s skin rubbing against their own in perfect unison.

They wanked each other off there, grinding against each other in the cramped confides of a bathroom stall at some bitch’s party.

It wasn’t long before they came; practically simultaneously - spilling out their seed into the glorious warmth of one another’s splaying hands. Their cries roared out in a symphony, Severin’s “Oh Sebastian, Sebastian fuck,” complimenting Sebastian’s “Sev- Sev- Severin, shit!”

They still remained alone in the drab little room, after they’d came. Not that they regarded that as of much importance, albeit they weren’t keen on getting caught. Lost to the haze of their orgasmic ecstasy, the twins crumbled to the floor, pants filling the musky air. Then, thrown together in a heap of filth, Severin giggled.


	13. Doll

Richard stared at his reflection with a pout dragging at his painted lips. A cherry red glistened over the delicate skin, outlining every curve and crease of his grimace. Jim curled around his side, a finger tracing the jut of the other’s Cupid’s bow as he admired the view.

Richard looked beautiful; cheeks glowing with a rosy hue of pink, mouth slicked in a delicious coat of lipstick that begged to be kissed. His eyes sparkled; more with anxiety than the sheer lust glimmering in his bother’s. He stood posed; bendable to Jim’s will at this point. His neck was craned, head tilted upwards and his fingers splayed out across the groove of his sloping hips. His nails caught in the flimsy fabric clothing his body; or rather, Jim’s body. It wasn’t truly his own now. He was under his twin’s control completely; he’d flex any which way at the other man’s purr of commands.

“You’re beautiful,” came the drawl; fluttering from Jim in a silky lilt. “So beautiful.”

Richard cocked his head to the side, wide doe eyes raking over the fabrication displayed in the mirror. The band of a skirt clung to his narrow waist. The piece was frilly; bouncing away from Richard’s thighs in a tangle of petticoats, that had been oh-so-genty hitched underneath the initial sheet of patterned threads. He caught sight of a loose seam, flickering at the corner and Richard found himself wondering if he’d ever burst. Every fibre grasped against the other, all but for this one - who had somehow snapped. Richard was quickly thrust out of his daydream with a click of his twin’s pale fingers, the planes of ashen skin that had pried and tugged.

Richard was embarrassed. Embarrassed that he was dressed up like a little doll. No matter how long, how insistently Jim told him he looked beautiful like this; he knew somehow, deep in his gut - that it wasn’t right. Wasn’t normal. And so, underneath the layers of make-up slapped across his features, he flushed. He was hot and his stomach knotted but he managed to stand still, all the same.

Jim’s palms skimmed across the material of the corset; smooth and fluid movements of his wrist. Richard gasped; a fleeting hitch of breath choked in the rumble of his throat. He was really adoring his own tiny toy, his plaything. And so he would, for ever more.


	14. Dead

Jimmy. Richard sees a ghost.

“You’re dead.”

The words fell from Richard’s lips; dull and certain. The man looming before him was dead. He was nothing but a corpse now; he’d seen the proof himself - the newscasts, each more gruesome than before. Jim. His big brother. He was dead.

“Maybe,” the figure replied, a smirk curling upon the fabrication of a delicate mouth. He didn’t look dead. Not now. Richard was dreaming; he knew that. Jim looked healthy; good. There was no trace of blood smeared across a shattered skull, no tinge of violet nor blue corroding at his ashen skin. He looked normal. He looked like Jimmy.

“You’re dead. I saw it. In the papers, on the news - you shot yourself. You’re dead.”

Richard couldn’t stop babbling, not even when he knew this was all false; yet he clung onto every second that dragged by with the ghost. His words bumbled into one another; syllables colliding and his tone not quite nestling on angry nor upset.

“Hush,” Jim said and he raised one of his perfectly manicured fingertips, not even a speck of dirt lurking within the crevices of his nails. Not now. He swooped forward.

Richard shuddered. He could feel him, he could feel the hands grasping at the curves of scrawny shoulders, he could feel the brush of his twin’s lips flutter against his own. He could feel, trembling; legs quavering beneath the weight of his lying mind, the wet, warm tongue sweeping across his own.

Richard whimpered. Jim was dead. Jimmy, Jimmy wasn’t really here. He was imagining, he was conjuring up every groove of flesh, every tender touch that was scattered over him now.

A sob hitched his breath; a strangled little noise rumbling in his throat. Tears licked at his cheeks, trickling down and down until they lapped at the jut of his chin.

Jim disappeared then, when Richard broke out in a cry. He faded; crawled back away into the depths of his grave. Richard crumbled; though he did not feel the floor biting at his bruised knees nor did he feel the clutches of his fingers digging at the wounds sprinkled over his palms.

Jim was dead. Dead. Jimmy was dead.


	15. Pathetic

“No one ever gets to me and no one ever will.”

The words still linger, prickle over his skin as he slumps back against the leather of the car seat. He was still alive - the words unfortunately sosweep through his thoughts - no explosions, not yet. A particular client had happened to call, lure him away from the consulting detective and his army doctor with their promises of so much more. But yet, that phrase, that pathetic little phrase, riddles his mind.

The car jolts to a halt and he slides out, not daring to send even a word his driver’s way, and starts on his climb to his flat. Jim curses under his breath as he stumbles on the stairs. Sebastian. He got to you. No. Jim drives the voices away, ascending the rest of his hike in a hurry, practically tumbling inside of the flat as soon as he arrives.

It’s quiet, lonely - you’re lonely, nothing but the faint scuffle of his shoes scraping across polished floor. He heads straight for the bedroom, muttering and hissing as the voices in his head taunt him even more.

He swings the door aside, almost scrambling across the carpets as he reaches out for the cupboard. He grasps a hold of the handle, knowing exactly what he wants and where it is. It’s stupid. So stupid. Pathetic. Pathetic. Ordinary. Someone got to you - ha! Jim winces as the words burrow deeper, hands fumbling as they scoop up the box.

It’s a simple box. Sentiment. Weak. No. He tosses aside the lid and his gaze rakes over the chain coiled inside. Pale fingertips pluck the dog tags up, gliding over the grooves of the metal as though the very curves burn at the skin. He holds them close, cradling them against his shirt before snaking the chain around his neck.

“No one ever gets to me and no one ever will.”

No matter how often he spits out the words, forces them to ring true - he can’t deny the feeling of the cold metal grazing his chest.


	16. Time

It had been so long; yearning had transformed into a desperate craving; desire blazing as a frantic urgency. Severin tore at Richard’s shirt, crackled nails biting at the calloused flex of flesh awaiting underneath. Richard moaned; groaned; cried out in an intoxicating cocktail of yes and no. His hands entangled in the other’s fair hair; tugging and scratching at his scalp.

It had been far too long since they’d collided; tumbled back upon the forgotten delicacy of silken sheets, arched and bent. Richard sprawled across their stage of linen, exposed and ready. Ready - a thirst of need and want clawing at the confines of his throat; breath captured by the glorious sight of Severin crawling over him.

Severin’s mind flickered to the slicing cold of metal, to laughs roaring high above - moments when he’d failed, when he’d thought he’d never lay his eyes upon the beauty of his lover again. He banished such thoughts; drove away their cruel sting with a hungry kiss to Richard’s plump, willing mouth; soaking up the very taste that enveloped him.

Richard battled with his cage; felt the shell he’d hidden within start to fade. He was free when with his lover; released and relieved - encouraged to shriek and to yell and to succumb to absolute toe-curling pleasure. His hips bucked; the slope of their jut rocking impatiently against the other man.

Severin understood; he always understood. It had been months; a year; a millennium - he hadn’t endured the skull-shattering pain of keeping track, and he still knew. His jaw slackened and his nostrils tickled. He nuzzled closer, swallowing the smaller’s cock. It was no longer a humiliating sink to the knees; not a play of power - it meant more, oh so much more - to indulge in such intimacy with the man he loved.

Richard came not long after; hard and fast; all control he’d ever clasped slinking away from him then. His seed filled the other man’s throat, seizing him unresponsive as the name Severin echoed the room.

Severin lapped every droplet up; tongue swirling, lips stretched. When he snaked away, dragged his body back, Richard was staring down at him.

A vast sea of dark oak and copper gazed upon a clarity of blue and grey. And then it crumbled; as they clung onto one another - denying that what they felt was fear, fear that their next parting could be the last.


	17. Ordinary

Sebastian had just shoved the last of his duffel bag into the locker when he’d realised someone was in there with him. Was it the scuffle of a shoe or the hitch of a gasp - he didn’t know. And he didn’t know, as he pivoted in his spot to fling some snarky remark towards his boss, that he’d be lunged at and a knife; thrust high then low; would bury itself into the pit of his stomach. He collapsed to the ground, fighting back a stream of curses and obscenities as vermillion drenched his shirt. He’d been stabbed by Jim. The knife was slashed away at the buck of Sebastian’s stuttering hips as he plummeted to the tiled floor.

Jim stared ahead; fingers curled around the handle of the knife; knuckles white as he squeezed. Sebastian lay before him, slumped against the slope of a locker, head lulled against the bite of metal. When he spoke, parted the crackled flesh of lips dusted in a fresh coat of crimson, his voice quavered - if only slightly. A tremble laced the bounce of syllables, the man’s stoic tone shattered in his time of death.

“J-Jim, what have you done?”

Jim blinked; tongue dabbing at the corner of his mouth; nails splintering under the pressure of the weapon’s base. He’d killed him. He could see the life draining from his sniper’s sagging body, fabrications of tigers; wild beasts crying out in ecstasy of their slaughter; flooding the decaying hollows of that clouded gaze.

“Murdered you. Obviously.”

The words rippled through the stifled air in a stagnate drawl. Jim’s brows scarcely furrowed; neck oscillating with a languid sway of neither distaste nor satisfaction. Sebastian grumbled, a whimper wrenched in the depths of his throat as each heaved breath grew laboured. He was in pain.

“Gonna tell me why, eh?”

Jim’s head swung as he answered; eyelashes thick as they pulsated across the craters of copper eyes.

“I felt myself growing attached, Moran. I felt sick with how painfully ordinary it would make me.”

It was true. True that he had clutched at the blade when he’d felt his gut stir with a sentiment long forbidden. It would twist and mutilated him; shed him of pride and power. Moran would cripple him. This was what had to happen, he had to be eliminated.

Sebastian nodded, or rather he slackened and his head careened back in a quiet sign of recognition. A grin contorted his features, a smile straining the tight flesh of his mouth against ashen cheeks.

“Well, that’s a bloody unusual way to confess your love for me.”

Jim sucked the jut of his lower lip between the bite of his teeth. That wasn’t what this was. It wasn’t. He wasn’t in love. He would never be in love. Love was pathetic, weak - unacceptable. He cast one last glance at the man slouched in a splay over the floor before spinning on his heel and marching out of the room. He left Sebastian to bleed out.


	18. Easter

“Tia, care to explain what’s lying on the table right now?”  
“You? Covered in some form of sushi I’m supposed to find appetising?”

Jade rolled her eyes dramatically, a huff of breath gritting through between the clamps of her teeth. Her face yanked in a scowl, she swung a splayed hand upon her hip. Their was something on the table that was very much indeed not herself; it was some sort of gift, she suspected. A rather indulgently sized chocolate egg, with the lavishes of an emerald ribbon slung across its voluptuous figure.

One of Jade’s perfectly groomed eyebrows quirked at the sight. Just as the patter of Bastia’s bare feet slapping against their polished floor slid up behind her.

“Ah, the egg. It’s a treat,” Bastia rattled off, waving a dismissive hand. “It’s for you. I got it. It is Easter.”

Jade’s eyes widened a fraction; as if in curiosity. A painted nail plucked at the ribbon garnishing the sweet, unravelling it just so. Tia was in constant awe of how her partner could transform the simplest of moves into something of majesty; ticks and twitches were spectacles to behold.

The egg rolling into the curve of her palm, Jade pivoted on the spot. Bastia succumbed to a smile, her lips curling at the corners as she watched the other woman handle the delicate hollow of chocolate. It was a bit ridiculous really, the way her fingers caressed the treat; as though she expected a prized, rare creature to be slumbering inside. Bastia chuckled at that thought.

Then, in an instant, or maybe two, Jade had the chocolate crackled from tip to base as she stole a hungered bite.

“Mmm,” Jade finally decided upon, after a moment of gliding her tongue across ruby lips.

“Like it, then? Gonna say thanks?” Bastia asked, swooping in close and wrapping an arm around the smaller’s petite waist. Jade rocked her hips into the hold and flashed a devious smile.

-

It wasn’t until two days later that Bastia discovered the scheme, the one underlying the grin that had curled upon her lover’s mouth. She waltzed into the flat, case dangling in one hand and keys in the other when she caught a glimpse of it. Ah, so Jade had decided to return the gift.

A rabbit. A furry little white thing, scampering about their living room. Bastia stared. And stared some more as the creature hopped to and fro before her leather-clad feet.

“The rabbit,” Jade trilled from not too far off; “I got it. It’s for you. It’s Easter!”


	19. Mugger

“I thought you were dead.”

The words were blunt. Though, as they crashed through the air - the space between the two men whom stood - there lingered a trace of hope. A small flicker of desperation.

Severin cracked an anxious smile, the corners of his lips dragging across his sun kissed cheeks. His hand entangled in the grease-slicked blondes of his own hair and he didn’t dare blink himself away from Richard’s stare.

Richard swallowed back the lump that unconsciously formed in his throat and his fingers clawed at the sensitive flesh of his clammy palms. Then, he reflected the quirk of his lover’s lips and slipped out a jittery chuckle.

 

Severin’s smile became a grin and he rushed forward to scoop the smaller man up in the clutches of his hold. Richard obliged, clinging to the other’s frayed shirt and slinging his own frail arms around the slope of the gunman’s neck.

Richard burrowed closer, mouth open and wet as he nuzzled at the hollows of his lover’s shoulders. He’d missed him so much. He’d grieved his death. He’d cried and he’d sobbed and allowed himself to succumb to a dagger-like sting of loss.

But now, now Severin was here.   
“You’re… you’re alive,” Richard moaned into the crook of a collarbone, tongue swirling across calloused skin, begging to hear the taller man groan once more.

Severin simply grasped Richard tighter; dotting a sprinkle of soft kisses across the actor’s ashen forehead. Loving and careful and gentle. Richard could have burst at the seams; could have cried out in both relief and agony.

Richard fell from Severin’s arms, sunk to his knees and forced away the flimsy fabric of the other man’s shirt. As he tore the fabric away, Richard gasped. His hands were red. His hands were stained the vermillion of blood, nails laced in a thick scarlet. His eyes darted frantically to find its source. Severin.

Severin was silent still, as Richard scrambled at his chest, soaking up more and more of the seemingly never ending flow of blood. Richard screamed, screamed and screamed as he became drenched in the cruel paint of Severin’s wounds. Wounds he could not find.

And then, as though all it once, Severin crumbled. Not a fall nor a stumble but the crackling of harsh skin and the rotting of festering features.

Richard yelled and pleaded and begged. “You’re alive! You’re alive! I thought you were dead!”

Severin disappeared.

Richard woke up.

Richard woke up, swung out of bed and stared at his reflection in the mirror. What stared back at him; cold and viscous and steel - was the scar that snaked across the jut of his cheekbone. The bruise dying upon his lids. The tear of his lips. The proof. The proof that one evening, the indestructible Severin Moran had been shot down by a simple mugger.


	20. Lipstick

It’s Richard who’s swaying back and forth; ashen skin taut across the jut of his hips. Severin hisses in a breath, teeth scraping across the pink hue of his lower lip, fingers curling in the stressed denim of his own jeans. Richard is dancing for him; hands raised in the air; mouth agape as silent moans flow past the cherry red paint smeared across his plump mouth. He’s watched Jim do this before - remembers the way his brother twisted and bent; the arc of his back; the scratch of heels grating across the panelled floors beneath.

“Severin,” he finally breaths, the name entangled in a wanton lull - every shred of attention, every slither of focus poured into the collision of syllables; into the way he whispers, pleads for his lover.

Richard sweeps over, collapsing to the hobbles of his knees; not caring how it stings, how the dull pulse of pain gnaws at him - as he peers up into Severin’s pale gaze, as the rusted, copper of his own eyes latch upon a speckle of green. He cranes his neck; tendons strained, the skin flushed in a delicious tint of vermillion, and nuzzles at the strain of fabric tented below him.

Severin mewls at first; before a rumble tears at his throat, a growl tickling at the flesh. He bucks; keening towards the blossoming warmth of Richard’s exhales. Then, Richard’s fingers are crawling up; creeping into the crook of the older man’s underwear, thumbs tugging at the frayed threads of bold colour. 

Severin’s trousers pool around his ankles and Richard takes a moment - Severin’s head swinging back, digits blundering forward to intertwine with the other’s dark matt of hair, hinting curls twisted and knotted as he staggers - to lap at the firm expanse of tan skin that is his lover’s thighs. He licks, tongue snagging at a flicker of hairs; mouth wet and sloppy as he teases and teases - coaxing asphyxiated wails. 

He doesn’t taunt for too long - knows well from recollections of his twin what happens when he does that - and heavy, murky eyelids flitter to a droop as the dank fervour of his mouth envelopes Severin’s cock. His head bobs and his hands thud flat at his sides.

“Rich-” Severin gulps, nails rasping at an agitated scalp as he tries to indulge in the fixation of his lover’s movement. The unyielding urge tormenting, submerging him. He needs to watch; needs to stare at that gorgeous, glossy rose of wine wrapped around his cock. He can almost taste it; craves to taste it.

Richard sucks and smacks and strokes and stretches; engulfing the musky scent, the linger of such an alluring stench prickling at his flaring nostrils. He loves this; adores the writhing and the squirming - the pleasure he can strike ablaze within Severin.

Severin doesn’t last much longer; never does, not with Richard so hungry and eager and the simmering burn coursing through the ache of his own veins. His thrust stutters as he comes; releasing his load; spewing through Richard’s savoured swallows. 

He slides away with an obscene pop; a slop of his lipstick slicked across Severin’s softening length. His lips coil into a smirk at that; and his tongue swipes out for just a moment to dab at the saliva garnishing the corners of his tender mouth - before he plunges forward to steal a desperate, dishevelled kiss, the tang of his lipstick intoxicating and the quiver of his stilettos piercing the bristled shells of their ears.


	21. auto-pilot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim doesn't 'live' a 'life.'

He felt like he was running on auto-pilot. As though he weren’t really there, as if he was looking onto the world and its people and their lives from above: from an angle. As if he was observing, studying, analysing. He felt like he wasn’t part of this so-called ‘life’ thing. He was watching it, watching other people participate in this so-called ‘life’ thing, while he rattled his brain for some sort of distraction from such thoughts. He’d found that distraction, had grappled hold of it - clung to it, made that distraction jump and moan and bleed. But then, that distraction, had walked away. Just upped and left, really. Jim couldn’t really blame them. Not that he’d ever even feel ‘alive’ enough to consider such emotional investment: he was too busy standing aside, at the top of his mighty tower, looking down at all the humans ‘living’ their ‘lives.’ Maybe Jim had teetered over the edge of his perch, maybe Jim had just - out of curiosity - let the tip of his big toe skim the surface of life. He might even, at a push, be able to claim that he’d felt a ripple: that upon testing the waters, so to say, he’d had an experience. A feeling. That, for once, the distraction had somehow managed to make Jim forget that he wasn’t really part of the big bad world he claimed to rule: that he wasn’t a participant. Jim is observing, studying, analysing. 

 

A tongue, the taste of sweat. Salty lips tracing the curve; the arch of naked skin. Puckering and prickling, pretty red blossoms blistering over a white sheet. The thrill of hair taught against your scalp; the ecstasy of your own nails sinking into the warm and ready flesh of your own palms. Your own mouth gaping, your own lips trembling, your own cries.

Jim is observing, studying, analysing. The distraction was gone, had upped and left after all. The ripple had been just that: a fading promise, a false claim; a lie swept up with the grime and gunk left over from all the people who ‘live’ ‘lives.’ Jim drags a gaze - probably his own - across the floor. A phone rings, a boy drowns in a pool, a bomb ticks. He felt like he was running on auto-pilot.


End file.
